


Faces in the Crowd

by highlytrainedfangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlytrainedfangirl/pseuds/highlytrainedfangirl
Summary: After Sherlock's death John keeps thinking he's seen the familiar face.





	

Four months. Four months since he'd lost Sherlock. It wasn't getting any easier, if anything it was getting harder. Every day that went by, he still expected the detective to come striding back in the front door.  
John was in the process of packaging up his belongings; he couldn't take living in their flat when it was no longer ‘theirs’. Everything just felt so empty. He was so alone.

Masses of people shuffled down the stark hallways, rustling of clothing and the odd cough the only sounds. Patients filled into small rooms. God, John was going insane. He needed to get out, he couldn't take the monotony of it all anymore.   
In an instant his head snapped up as he spotted a mop of curly brown hair above the crowd. He heart was thundering in his chest, beating so hard it ached. His throat tightened as the dark hair came towards the front of the crowd. So close.  
The sea of people parted, John held his breath –  
A man with a short face and dark skin stepped forwards. Oh. Of course. John resisted the urge to slam his head against the wall, _stupid, stupid, stupid_. Sherlock was dead. Why couldn't he just accept that. Why did his brain have to play such cruel tricks on him?

Walking down the bustling streets, he was jostled about by mindless passers-by. In front of him he saw the flash of a long grey coat, swishing through the crowd. It was _that_ coat. John would recognise it anywhere. He knew it. _Sherlock_. It had to be. Who else would wear that coat? He increased his pace, speeding through the masses towards the dark grey fabric. He had to find him. He had to get there.  
Them man in the coat became clearly visible and there stood a man with faint blond hair. Of course it wasn't him. It would never be Sherlock. John tried to fight the sinking feeling of his heart falling through the pit of his stomach. 

It kept happening. No matter where he went he saw ghosts. Everywhere he was stalked by memories of his dead friend.

A deep voice rumbled behind him, a baritone laugh shaking him to the core. _Don't. Just don't do that to yourself. It's not him. IT’S NOT HIM_. he couldn't take it anymore. It was driving him insane. Sherlock was gone. He was dead.

 

The cemetery was silent was John ghosted through row upon row of headstones. Standing before the marble slab he drew in a deep, shaky breath.  
“I- I'm not good with words. You know that. This was difficult the first time and I don't think I can do it again. I'm sorry Sherlock, but I can't keep hanging onto you. I'm moving out of Baker Street. But please just, just let me move on.”  
He took another deep breath and cleared his throat. “I keep seeing you. Everywhere. It's not fair Sherlock. Your de-dead. Your dead. But every single time I see you, I expect you to come strutting through the front door and whisk me off to some ridiculous case.  
But you never will. I need to accept that. So I'm leaving Baker Street. This is my final good-bye, Sherlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I just- teh killed me and those scenes with John thinking he's seen Sherlock... I'm not ok.


End file.
